Authenticity is everything; at least it is in the vintage end of the old-car movement. Most enthusiasts agree that credibility really matters.

Now if only we reach some sort of consensus about what qualifies as authentic. Let's at least narrow the terms to the gasoline-powered cars that competed from the late 1950s to the early 1970s in NHRA's Gas Coupe and Sedan categories. You know...Gassers.

I think we all agree that a car that competed in one of those classes qualifies as authentic even if it acquired a few new or reproduction parts over the years. But what about a car that never earned such a pedigree? Could it qualify as authentic even if absolutely faithful down to the parts and construction methods?

Lonnie Gilbertson says it can't. Bear in mind that he refers to his 1955 as a Gasser and it lacks any sort of pedigree too. It's not that he's a hypocrite; it's just his criteria differ. In his estimation a car or truck earns Gasser status not by parts but by intent. "A Gasser is a race car," he insists. "Most of the Gassers you see have never seen a dragstrip. How can a car be a Gasser if it hasn't set foot on a track?"

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Because Lonnie's 1955 hasn't made a full pass as a gas-powered modified production sedan we can't quite call it a Gasser. It's a fresh build inspired by another race car project. "I bought a front-engine dragster," he reveals. "My partner in it was going to be the driver but he backed out." The digger's tight confines kept him out of the cockpit but it didn't do anything to discourage him. "I had the engine so I thought, ‘I'm going to build me a car that I can drive myself.'"

The project started with a car unremarkable in all ways but two: it was rust-free and came with a sandblasted and primed frame. Lonnie conspired with longtime friend Marty Strode to build a chassis from it. Strode replaced the flared frame section ahead of the firewall with plain rectangular tubing. The duo grafted brackets to hang Speedway Motors' parallel-leaf springs and a straight-axle from it. Gone is the 1955 steering assembly, in its place a Vega-style circulating ball box. Though not historically correct, the later GM-vented disc brakes redeem themselves by safety.

Like a number of period race cars the rear suspension consists of ladder bars and parallel leaf springs. Theoretically the design has the best of both worlds: the ladder bars determine the suspension's antisquat properties and the springs support the car's weight. But application isn't quite so simple. These early hybrid designs suffered terrible bind because the ladder bars require the axle to move in an arc that conflicts with the arc defined by the leaf springs.

But Strode designed and Lonnie built a system that decouples the two systems. The ladder bars still attach to the 1957 Ford pickup axle conventionally; however, the axle doesn't attach directly to the spring by fixed axle pads. Instead the axle floats in collars. Rather than mount directly to the spring each collar has two ears that pivot a plate clamped to each spring. The ladder bars still determine the antisquat properties and transfer the power to the chassis but because the axle can rotate in the collars and those collars can rock back and forth on the springs the design doesn't suffer the bind that those old systems did. The design admittedly suffers lateral bind that induces extreme oversteer and stresses components when the car steers or encounters uneven surfaces, like driveways. However, had Lonnie intended to use the car for more than straight lines on glass-smooth surfaces he probably wouldn't have run 4.88:1 gears on a spool either. Within the context Lonnie says the system works. "It hooks up and goes straight as an arrow," he brags.

Technology and cost made narrowed axles quite uncommon so racers usually cut the quarter-panels for tire clearance. "But I don't like Tri-Fives with the wheelwells cut out," Lonnie admits, explaining that the large hole in a flat panel looks unfinished. As Strode pointed out, though, Buicks—which use the same basic body as Chevrolet—have similarly open wells framed by stainless trim. "That trim gives the big round hole a reason to be there," he says. "I tell everyone that it was my idea...right after Strode said it." Kim Schultz hammer-welded the lip around the fender opening.

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After Strode assembled the Art Morrison cage inside it, the body and a Scott's Rods fiberglass nose went to Acme Welding Body Shop. Duane Olofson and Ryan Saunders applied House of Kolor Pagan Gold over a silver base; Mitch Kim lettered the quarters.

By the numbers the 350 that Ted King at Portland Engine Rebuilding crafted is spot-on Gasser material. It sports a forged Eagle crank and rods, ported Bow Tie heads, Vertex magneto, a mechanical roller cam, and equally mechanical Hilborn injectors. That engine bolts to a TH400 built by A-1 Performance Trans and Converters.

Whether by its looks, sounds, or style, Lonnie's 1955 commands attention. "People just go crazy over it," he says. "It's been received way better than I anticipated.

"It's just a ball to drive," he continues, likening it to a friend's Harley. "It had ape hangers and freeway pegs so you sit back with your arms up," he recalls. "(It) sort of made you want to pull up to the next intersection and kick somebody's door in. Man, driving that thing is the same feeling. Oh yeah. Why didn't I have this in high school?"

But is it a Gasser? In the sense that it made a pass on a track, yes; however, it did so without so much as a drop of gasoline in its tiny grille-mounted tank. So going by NHRA's rules it isn't—at least it isn't yet. But Lonnie says it really doesn't faze him. I mean put yourself in his shoes: if you called such a beast like this yours would you really care what people called it?